Lying on a hospital bed, Misha glared at the white ceiling as though he wanted to pierce a hole in it with his eyes. A few seconds later, he huffed, then rolled out of bed. The moment his bare feet landed on the icy floor, Misha couldn’t help but grimace, looking around for his slippers. He almost had to put the small room upside-down before finally finding said slippers under the plastic chair.

Then, Misha straightened his back, tugging his clothes closer to his body. Although he knew it was only his imagination, it still felt like an eerie breeze was continually blowing under his hospital gown, giving him the impression that he was butt naked. It even made him wonder if he hadn’t forgotten to put on his underwear—he hadn’t.

In addition to being utterly ugly, the damn clothes always fell apart whenever he moved, and he had to battle with the cords on his back to tie them into a bow. Was there anything more impracticable than this? Did it look like he had hands growing on his back? How on earth was he supposed to tie his gown without dislocating his shoulders?!

And even though the gown Misha wore was for kids, it was still too big for him, and the wide collar always exposed one of his shoulders when it wasn’t his collarbone. It made his mouth twitch every time. Was it too much to ask for clothes that actually covered his body…?

Of course, it was!

Misha sighed, and again, he pulled up his collar in a useless attempt to fix his appearance a little, wondering if he shouldn’t just wrap himself in his bedsheets.

‘I never thought I’d have to wear one of these ugly back-tying gowns again. Gosh, the one who created them was either a pervert or an idiot!’ Misha winced his heart, silently mourning the hospital gown that would be created in a few years; these kimono-inspired gowns at least opened at the front, not the back, and they thus considerably reduced the risk of exposing one’s rear.

In any case, be it the old one or the future one, Misha still didn’t want to wear any of them. Not only because they were uncomfortable but also because they almost always involved a trip to the hospital. And strangely enough, Misha wasn’t that fond of visiting the hospital, even though he frequently came by to say hi in his past life, either because he had fought with drunkards or because he had done something stupid while drunk—like jumping down a roof.

Now that Misha thought about it, some injuries had been gruesome beyond words, and some had left deep, white scars on his skin—broken glasses, beers, and pool cues could become quite scary if used well. Ah, man, the number of times a nurse had to stitch his wounds in the middle of the night….

‘But I was at least admitted to the hospital for a good reason back then! Now, I’m stuck in a hospital bed without even being sick! That damn fever is driving me nuts!’

Would the doctors even let him go home one day? Misha couldn’t help but doubt. The poor souls would never find out what was wrong with his body, no matter how many tests they made him go through or how much they racked their brains over his condition. Unless one of them traveled back in time and knew what consequences it implied, the result would always be the same: no virus, no disease, no lesions, no explanation.

But if his fever never went down, wouldn’t Misha be stuck in this damned place forever? The simple thought sent shivers down his spine. He was admitted only a few days ago, and Misha was already so bored that he was on the verge of insanity! And his three roommates sure didn’t help him improve his mood!

Biting his thumb, Misha pondered how to convince his mother to bring him home. He was still thinking about such matters when a gentle voice rang in the room.

“Sweetheart, where are you going?”

Misha turned his head, and his eyes met with the petite figure of his mother. Her blonde hair was slightly disheveled, loosely tied at the crown of her neck, while dark circles hung under her eyes, reflecting her restless sleep from the past few days. In one of her hands, there was a steaming coffee. At its sight, Misha couldn’t help but frown. Too much caffeine wasn’t good for the body, and his mother was already at her third cup when it wasn’t even noon.

“I’m just going to the toilet,” Misha answered, forcing a smile before slipping away into the washroom. Among the four beds in the room, his was the nearest to the toilet, and he only needed to take a few steps before reaching it.

Once inside, Misha heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples.

Although his mother’s worries and care made him feel loved, it had been a bit too much these past few days. She seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, never leaving his bedside until the nurse sent her home late at night before coming back early in the morning. The moment Misha was out of her sight, she started to panic, looking everywhere for him as if her life was on the line. She only left her son’s side when she was so hungry that her stomach was about to digest itself or when her bladder threatened to explode if she didn’t go to the toilet.

Even if Misha wasn’t the brightest person on earth, he still could tell that his mother’s reaction was somewhat abnormal. He maybe had a constant fever for a whole week, but because his body temperature wasn’t too high, it wasn’t life-threatening; it was just enough to be bothersome. In his opinion, he was simply a special case that needed to be thoroughly examined but not prioritized.

“Next time Masha comes to visit me,” Misha mumbled to himself, “I need to ask her what’s going on with mom.”

Misha was worried sick about his mother’s health, which was deteriorating at a rate visible to the naked eye. For as long as he could remember, it was the first time he ever saw her so worked up. But, if he was honest, all he remembered from his mother before his transmigration was her warm smile. The rest, he had long forgotten. But who could blame him? She died when he was merely ten years old, and after fifteen years, it was reasonable to forget!

When Misha came out of the toilet, he found his mother sitting on the plastic chair, nervously tapping on the coffee cup. The moment she saw him, she heaved a discreet sigh of relief and patted the bed as if to tell him to come and sit.

Misha didn’t make things difficult for her and trotted to the bed before climbing on it and sliding under the bedsheets. After a short while, he glanced at his mother, then asked, “How about telling me a story?”

It wasn’t the first time he had made such a request. Every time there was a long silence between them, he’d ask this to distract his mother from her worries, and she would gladly comply. Thus, Misha closed his eyes and listened to his mother’s stories, her gentle voice lulling him to sleep.

When Gulnas heard her son’s faint and regular breathing, she stopped talking mid-sentence. She smiled and stretched a hand to stroke her boy’s hair with tenderness, saying, “Get well soon.”

Then, silence fell. Gradually, Mrs. Brown’s expression turned gloomier as she stared at Misha’s sleeping face. Seeing her precious son lying on a hospital bed brought back memories of the day he was born, and she couldn’t stop the anxiety from rising.

Almost ten years ago, she had fallen down the stairs from the second floor, and the shock made her give birth prematurely. Although they rushed to the hospital, her newborn baby had still been between life and death for weeks, having to sleep in an incubator for over a month. The sight of so many tubes providing solutions, nutrition, and oxygen to her son, who was so small that he could fit in her hands, was burned into her memory. She could never forget the feeling of despair that overwhelmed her at the time. All she could do was wait for good news.

Once her baby was out of danger, the doctor took her aside. Very slowly, he explained that there was a chance his growth would be affected by his premature birth. According to the doctor, Misha would never grow tall, always smaller and thinner than his pairs. He might also suffer from mental disabilities. It was something only time could tell, but she needed to pay attention to his health and behavior early on so they could intervene as soon as possible.

Until now, the doctor’s words were right. Her boy was small and thin, and he also had slight developmental disabilities. When Mrs. Brown looked at him sleeping in a hospital bed, guilt swelled up in her chest. If only she hadn’t fallen, maybe her boy’s condition wouldn’t be as bad as it was right now. Perhaps, he would not have to go through so many ordeals, and his life would be easier. She knew that the difficulties he experienced at school bothered him and that his classmates often mocked him because of his delicate build. When she thought of such things, she couldn’t help but blame herself.

Gulnas let out a discreet sigh before bending down and kissing her son’s warm and sweaty forehead. “This time again, you will be fine. Yes, you will certainly be fine.”

Mini theater

MC: I hate that freaking gown. How can girls wear skirts and dresses?!

ML: How about trying it? You will have a good idea then.

MC: Fuck no! You wear it!

ML: It wouldn’t suit me, sorry.

MC: It wouldn’t suit me either!!!

ML: ...

Author: ...

Masha: ...

Dereck: ...

MC: Go to hell, all of you!!!!